


Talk to Me

by metronome140



Category: Warframe
Genre: Dirty Talk, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Masturbation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-12
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2019-10-26 22:36:43
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17754785
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/metronome140/pseuds/metronome140
Summary: "I want to listen to you. Please."“You like my voice?” He boasts, surprising himself.“I fucking love your voice, Ordis.”





	1. Breakthrough

**Author's Note:**

> Spoiler warning:  
> This story contains references to Ordis' Cephalon Fragments.

"Welcome back from your mission, Operator." Ordis happily greets the Operator as they board the ship, as he had done countless times. They stand, pausing to look out the Liset's window and consider the view.

 

Nothing but empty space staring back.

 

Like a ritual they walk down the ramp, shedding their Warframe with a sigh of relief before continuing to their personal quarters. Spattered blood, gun shells and shards of God knows what leave behind a cocktail of battle on the floor. Ordis drinks in the familiarity of it before sweeping it away once again.

 

"Relaxing after another battle, Operator?" He watches them open the door to their quarters.

 

Something falters in their step as they place their hand on the door frame. In truth, the battle was supposed to be the relaxing part. In truth, they had been preoccupied by some thoughts about Ordis. Troubling thoughts that normal people probably did not have about their Cephalon. Thoughts they were desperately trying not to think.

 

Needless to say, it didn't work.

 

They look around their room, taking note of the various decorations and embellishments. It feels strange having this here, in him. Like putting glitter on a gun. Deceptively domestic. They run their hand along the shelves, questioning their design before taking a seat on the floor by the window. Maybe meditating will help. They close their eyes, slow their breath, feeling for the reaches of the Void – only to be abruptly snapped back to their uncomfortable reality.

 

"Enjoying the view?"

 

Of course he can't be quiet for long. He's always incessantly checking on them, so irritatingly considerate and attentive. Constantly denying them a moment's peace. Fuck, did they love him.

 

So much for meditating.

 

The Operator sighs, exasperated. “Yes, Ordis. Quite the remarkable view, it sure is space out there.” They lazily gesture to the emptiness in front of them.

 

“Very observant, Operato- **smartass.** ”

 

They can't help but laugh at his outburst. Fuck, did they want him.

 

How did this happen? Staring at the blank ocean before them, they tread through the Void.

 

Their life is chaos. It always has been. Amidst all the fighting, the blood, the wars - the question plagues them after each mission. What am I, inside this shell? Who is really buried under the mausoleum filled with guns and corpses? As their blade of a soul sharpens with each conflict, it gets harder for their humanity to grasp hold of again. It's cold, distant - and the thought of losing it is terrifying. They want to feel something, anything besides destruction. To feel connected again. The fear grips them tighter each time.

 

And each time, Ordis is there. Through chaos and storm, his voice is like a guiding light calling them back to safety. Time and time again, he selflessly picks up the pieces and puts them back together. Proud of them.

 

And if someone as incredible as Ordis believes in them, surely the Operator _must_ have a soul hidden somewhere inside. They are two reflections, hanging on for dear life.

 

How did it happen? It was inevitable.

 

Normal people didn't fall in love with their Cephalon. But then again, what about them was normal?

 

Fuck it.

 

“Ordis.”

 

“What is it, Operator?”

 

How do they tell him?

 

“Do you need my assistance, Operator?”

 

The words won't form. Their mouth goes dry, their heart beats faster. There's too much to say and no words to say them.

 

He starts to worry. He always does. “What is wrong, Operator? Tell me and I w--”

 

"I want you, Ordis."

 

He sounds confused. How can he not be? "I am right here, Operator."

 

“No, Ordis. I mean I _want_ you.” They look into the room of the ship, searching for any trace of understanding.

 

“I – **I don't** – understand, **Operator.** I am here.” His voice shorts.

 

"No, Ordis. For fuck's sake-” Frustration colors their voice as they sloppily remove their suit.

" **O-operator** , what are y-"

“Listen to me -” They cut him off, continuing to rip their suit away. Discarding everything – tearing down every wall, every barrier between them. Risking everything to feel, to be seen. For him.

“I want _you_.” They punctuate their words, kicking their clothing aside.

 

For once, he falls silent. Only the hum of the ship's engines indicate he's there.

 

Time stands still. “I love you, Ordis.”

 

They wrap themselves in their arms, looking around the room as if they are searching for him. But of course, they won't find him. No matter how hard they look, he is only a ghost.

 

Ordis drifts, floating between the fragments of himself. Of course he loves the Operator. To hear these words, it makes him feel something he can't describe. It is beyond joy, beyond euphoria. Every fiber of his whatever-he-is shudders with a life it should not have. But how can he deserve such a gift? He is a Cephalon. Where does he begin and end? He lost track a long time ago. He doesn't deserve it, afraid it's wasted on him because he cannot truly appreciate it.

 

"Operator, I..."

 

He hesitates. He is a ship. He is a Cephalon. He is a shadow of his former self.

 

"Do you want me?" They stand strong, tearing him away from his own lost thoughts. They ask him as if it's so simple, so easy. Maybe it is. Maybe they can see through him, confronting his doubts in his place. They anchor him, fearless.

 

Does he want the Operator? Gods, yes. More than anything. He lives and breathes for them, needs them. He has never wanted anything more. But what could he, a broken Cephalon, possibly offer? He looks at their exposed form as they wait for him, faint light basking on their skin. Standing there in confidence as if it's the most natural thing in the world. He has no blood, no veins – but something in him feels alive. He knows their frail appearance is deceptive - for as soft and delicate as they might seem, they hide a deadly weapon masked in smiles and song.

 

A warrior.

 

He was once a warrior, too.

 

“ **Y e s.** ” He finds strength.

 

“I need to hear you say it, Ordis.” They shift their gaze to nowhere in particular, but somehow he feels seen. He is happy to relieve their fear, to return the favor. He wants them to know.

 

“ **I want you.** ” His voice – his real voice – does not hesitate.

 

“What do you want from me?”

 

“I want you to feel whole again. I want to complete you. **I want you to scream it so loud, heaven and hell can hear it.** ”

 

Relief washes over the Operator. He tries to burn every detail of the dangerous smile they wear into his memory. He wants to remember it's there because of him.

 

“Take me there, Ordis.”

 

He doesn't remember. Reality catches up to him. Pesky thing. "How am I supposed to -"

 

"Talk dirty to me." They truly are fearless. He would be stunned if he wasn't so thrilled. He feels them move on the floor, sliding their legs as they turn. He watches them run their hands along their sides, resting on their hip.

 

"I want to listen to you. Please."

 

“You like my voice?” He boasts, surprising himself.

 

“I fucking **love** your voice, Ordis.”

 

It feels strange. He is excited and nervous. The Operator is handing him this weakness, asking him to wield it for their pleasure. He is more than happy to oblige, but it feels foreign.

 

"Does the Operator like it when I speak?" He retreats, overly polite. He is still holding back, afraid to take off the mask.

 

“You don't always have to be so gentle with me, Ordis. I trust you.”

 

He always fought his own demons, denying them. Afraid of what the Operator might think. He realizes he might be stronger if he frees them.

 

“ **I want to see you writhe**.”

 

"Keep talking”, they reply, breathier than he remembers. He watches their hands run through their hair. He enjoys this feeling, the want, the undivided attention. He's intoxicated by it. He used to fear his broken shackles, but for now he revels in it.

 

"What do you want, Ordis?"

 

"I want you to feel. I want to feel you. I want to give you everything. I want all of you, Operator."

 

The Operator moves to a reclined position, stretching out for him to see. One hand remains in their hair, the other drops down to run along the side of their jaw, down their neck and collar, lingering on their chest. They are beautiful.

 

Yet somehow, it feels wrong - being able to watch them this way without the ability to return. Selfish. He was always watching, monitoring per his duty - but this is different. He dims the lights in the room, only able to see the faintest silhouette of their form. That felt more fair. Two shadows, dancing together.

 

The room falls dark.

 

"Are you afraid to look at me, Ordis?"

 

"I want to see you like you see me, Operator."

 

"And what do I look like?"

 

"A painting. A story. An eternity. **Everything**." His voice slows.

 

"I want you to tell me what to do, Ordis. Help me." Sprawled across his floor, pleading to him for pleasure. Somewhere, some part of Ordis couldn't help but delight in compliance.

 

"Perhaps it would be best if the Operator **begged for more** ", He teased.

 

He heard them huff, shifting to lay on their side. Their hand slid in delicate circles on the ground. In a saccharine tone so sickeningly sweet it bordered on mocking, they obliged.

 

" _Pretty please,_ Ordis. Make me feel good.” Their tone drops, earnest. “Make me feel alive."

 

If he could shudder, he would. "Touch yourself, Operator."

 

And like that, they danced. Or was it closer to a battle? Taking turns as the crescendo built with broken breaths. Ravenously grasping at each other as if they might disappear at any moment.

 

He is guessing, mostly. The dance was left behind a long time ago. He so desperately wants to please them, blindly throwing words that he hopes are correct. He lives for every moan of pleasure, every cry for his name – to be wanted, **needed** by the Operator. He listens to each sound, wanting to memorize them.

 

Despite his Cephalon shell of shattered code and glass, he feels something stir within him. Something buried deep. At first, he thinks it feels familiar. Feelings of old he hadn't remembered for an eternity - simple, primal feelings of hunger and thirst.

 

But as he listens to their gasps of breath, feels their form writhing against him on the floor, calling _his_ name - he realizes this is something new. Something he had never felt, even before.

 

He feels desire. Love. A burning sensation to never let this fire fade. He wants to protect it, hold it close and never let go. He wants to give everything until he burns the same flames. He wants them to be a part of him, and he wants to be part of them.

 

He hears their voice get louder, listens as their breath gets faster. He is drunk off of the Operator's pleasure and he never wants it to stop.

 

They were close. He wants it too.

 

“Come for me.” He needs them.

 

“Ordis”, they cry out. They need him.

 

Again and again, they called his name. And he would always be there to answer.

 

 

 

 

 


	2. Wager

_Pop._

 

A single bullet flies and hits a security camera, glass lens shattering. A few defeated sparks spill down and the lights go out, dead.

 

“ _Nice shot, Operator.”_

 

They hear his voice through the receiver. He's been joining them on comms lately, keeping them company on missions. They enjoy hearing his voice out in the fray and he relishes being part of it. Despite the violence, it's comfortable - makes him feel close. They've grown accustomed to each other in battle.

 

The Operator holsters their pistol. Not a lot of action today. It's a standard spy mission - get in, get the data, get out. It's a familiar song and dance they could do in their sleep, and security seems especially light. The Operator checks to make sure no one heard the gunfire before proceeding through the hallway. It's decorated with silvers and blues, a labyrinth of metal and electricity. A Corpus base.

“ _On your left, Operator.”_

They turn and see a guard patrolling, back turned. They approach slowly, taking care not to alert them before striking swift for the neck. The guard falls to the ground lifeless and they only feel a _little_ disturbed at how natural it feels.

“Thanks, Ordis.” They bend down, grab the guard by their feet and drag the body to hide it behind a barrel, clearing their trail.

 

“ _It's a pleasure to watch you work, Operator. Though personally, sneaking around isn't my method of choice. Too easy.”_

They dust their hands off, standing again. Smiling, they can't resist an opportunity to tease him. “If your puns are any indication, Ordis...you're not one for subtlety.”

“ _You know you love them,”_ he returns playfully. “ _The problem still stands. This mission is -_ _ **BORING**_ _\- too easy for you, Operator.”_ He pauses, mulling over his next words. “ _Are you in the mood for a challenge?”_

 

They can't shake the thought that there's a mischievous tone in his voice. Cautiously, they cross the room. They whisper to him, hushed in case there are more guards nearby. “What do you have in mind?”

 

“ _A game. More of a wager, really.”_ His voice is deeper than usual, falling into a huskier pattern. He knows they love it when he talks like that. They swear he's been practicing.

 

They press against a metal crate, taking cover to listen closely. It feels cold on their back.

 

“Go on.”

“ _Let's make a bet, Operator. I bet that before you finish this mission, I can make you come.”_

A shiver goes down their spine. _Damn_ if it isn't the sexiest thing to hear him so confident. He's grown bold as they've gotten closer and they fucking _love_ it. Still, it doesn't seem very challenging. They love listening to his voice, but the mission isn't difficult and they are certain they can wait ten minutes to get back to the ship. Like a normal person, with any semblance of professionalism. They _are_ excited to get back, though. They consider his offer.

 

“What do you get if you win?”

 

“ _I think that is self-evident, Operator.”_

They try to respond, but stumble on anything clever to say. They're somewhere between taken aback and incredibly turned on. They try not to show it, clearing their throat. “That's sweet. Not until I get back, Ordis. You're on. But if I win, I get to choose the prize.” They let the words hang in the air before lifting themselves off the crate, only slightly missing the cool touch as they feel suspiciously heated. The Operator enters a set of metal doors and sees an orange console, indicating they were already close to the first vault. Their face brightens with a grin as they approach the screen. This was going to be too easy.

“ _Feeling confident, Operator? You are good with your hands,”_ he purrs.

 

Their fingers slip as they hack the console. _Shit._ It takes an extra few seconds to open the door. The Operator, in defiance, looks nowhere in particular to address him - lifting a finger to the air. “That was a fluke.” They both know it wasn't, but he has the decency not to point it out.

 

They take note of the newly opened room, trying to focus again. The vault is across a bed of assorted lasers, some static and others in motion. They wait patiently, observing a pattern and stretching for a moment to prepare. Like a delicate ballet, they navigate through the field. Carefully, they jump and tuck through an opening and land safely on the ground. They sprint to build momentum before sliding under a lower segment of the laser grid, arcing as they bend backward. They feel themselves beginning to warm up from the exertion as they prepare to make the last leap over a gap in the floor leading to the vault. Almost there. They back up a few steps before running forward, jumping.

 

“ _I love watching you maneuver your body, Operator. I can't wait to see more.”_

 

 _Fuck._ They stumble, catching the ledge instead of landing gracefully. Suspended by their hands and feet braced against the wall, they consider that maybe this won't be as simple as they planned. Every word he says is melting through their mental fortitude – which to be fair, wasn't very strong from the start. Why did he have to sound so _damn_ hot?

 

“Not fair, Ordis. You fight dirty.” They catch their breath before pulling themselves back up, safe again.

 

“ _ **That's the idea**_ _.”_ He says the words slowly, letting them roll suggestively.

Ten minutes was beginning to feel like an eternity. They mindlessly approach the data vault and recover the first cache. The lasers in the room disarm and they return to the halls of the base to search for the next cache. “I'll concede one thing, Ordis. This _is_ more interesting.”

If you could put a face to a Cephalon, they could almost hear his shit-eating grin. “ _It could be a lot more than interesting, Operator.”_

 _Ten minutes._ The Operator repeats it to themselves like a mantra, trying to shake off how goddamn distracting he is. Before they can reflect on the fact that it's entirely their fault he's had so much practice, the halls take them to an outdoor passageway. Even for a few moments, the cold air and snow is welcome. They take the opportunity to clear their head before locating a lift to the next vault. Exhaling slow, their breath is visible in the cold. The elevator starts to descend, glass panels and metal beams rushing past.

 

They expect him to weaponize the silence, but he doesn't say anything. At first they think it's a reprieve, but their mind wanders with the free time. They think about getting back to him, to the ship - and how badly they want that moment now. The Operator tilts their head back in frustration, transference feeling fuzzy and uncomfortable. This game of his, this battle - they want to win. What would he do?

 

The Operator shifts their weight to another foot, hip tilted to one side. “Ordis..."

 

" _Yes, Operator? Ready to forfeit?_ "

They stretch their arms up, letting their hands run along their sides on the way back down. "I can only take so much, Ordis." They let their voice trail in a sultry tone. “I want you.”

 

He makes a pleased hum that makes it hard to stay in the game. “ _Show me.”_

They persevere to fight fire with fire, putting on a show for him. The Operator draws a hand down their torso, neck tilted to the side. Smiling, they dip down seductively and swing their hips. A hand slides down their thigh and back up when they stand.

 

Leaning forward, they speak softly. "I'm going to win this bet.” They dip down again, rising slowly. “You'll have to wait every painstaking minute with me.” A finger lifts to rest against their lip. “I'm going to make you wait for it, Ordis." They let his name drawl as a breathy whisper, not far from how they might be saying it later.

 

They hear him groan over the receiver, a sound that pierces them. When he speaks again, it's gravelly - hungry. " _Don't make promises you don't intend to keep, Operator_."

 

The elevator reaches the ground floor and they confidently stride out, filled with newfound vigor for their game. They carefully leap up to a catwalk suspended high in the room, leading to a small opening below. The vault will require jumping down between a laser grid with little room for error.

 

“I'm surprised you suggested this game, Ordis.” They grasp the ceiling edge before dropping down to the first catwalk, landing on all fours.

 

“ _Forget the game, Operator. I want you.”_

 

A shudder runs through them. They thank the stars they have their hands and feet firmly planted, avoiding any chance of falling. “I told you, Ordis...” They leap down another level through a narrow opening, landing on another beam. “You're going to wait.” Another leap, another beam. “Every minute.” One last jump. Their breath is broken from exertion. They right themselves, strutting over to the console. “And I'm going to win.”

 

" _You're cruel_." He says the words with a tone that implies anything but cruelty.

 

"Is that so?" They respond by leaning over further than necessary to access the lock, hips jutting out.

 

 _"Positively ruthless,”_ he comments with admiration. He pauses as if considering fine art. “ _I like this side of you, Operator._ "

 

The light turns green and they successfully open the second vault. "I'll make sure to save some for you later, Ordis."

 

" _Promises, promises._ "

 

God, they can't wait to finish this never ending mission. They rush through the halls and doorways towards the last cache, ready to be done and get back to him. Finally, they come upon the final cache – locked away through a series of windowed walls. Looking to speed things along, they observe a vent tucked away in the corner by the ceiling. They break the flimsy grill and jump up, catching the edge and lifting themselves onto it. It's cramped, forcing them to crawl forward.

“ _I must say I'm impressed, Operator.”_

 

They place one elbow in front of the other, dragging themselves through the vent. “Why thank you, Ordis.” Their voice lowers, mischievous. “I'm eager to hear what you'll have to say later.”

“ _There's nothing stopping me from saying it now.”_

 

They know they're playing with fire, but they won't back down. “So say it then.”

 

His voice is deep, swallowing their full attention. “ _I want you to touch yourself, Operator. I want you to drop everything you're doing and relish every moment of it.”_

 _Shit._ They flew too close to the sun. They don't want him to stop.

“ _Just imagine, Operator. How good it's going to feel.”_

 _Don't think about it._ They repeat it to themselves with little success. _Don't think about Ordis whispering into your ear. Don't think about him._

“ _How good it will feel when you finally come. Knowing you couldn't wait._ _”_

 

The Operator lets out a groan. _Fuck,_ they want him. The cold metal and breeze from the ventilation does little to calm their fire. They crawl through the vent, desperate for more.

 

“ _I want to hear you moan, Operator.”_

 

They want to give it to him. Without hesitation, his name slips from their lips. “Ordis -”

 

The Operator fails to notice the gap in the vent, opening up to a room below. With a surprised yelp, they clumsily tumble through. Even worse, they fail to notice the series of lasers on the floor – which knock them to the side after attempting to land on their feet. Robbed of any remaining dignity, they let out a curse as the room starts to flash with red warning lights and a piercing alarm begins to echo through the room and down the halls. So much for being stealthy. They stand and run for the door leading to the vault. It's locked. _Shit_.

 

“Remind me not to accept a challenge of yours again, Ordis.” They comment as they work on the lock.

 

“ _There's still time, Operator.”_

 

Their hand hesitates as their mind lingers on his words. Even now, he's so confident. He sounds _so good_. They want him. They are shaken from their trance when the countdown clock starts its final ticks.

 

“Shit -” Fumbling, the door lock is broken. They run through the door and rush to the control panel to the data cache, seconds left.

 

“Dammit – I'm not going to make it -” Their fingers struggle to work fast enough. The clock ticks down to one and the Operator sighs in frustration, resting an open palm flat against the screen. They hang their head in defeat.

 

“ _You may want to continue your mission, Operator.”_

 

They lift their head to see the timer frozen at one second left. Confusion turns into surprise. “You overrode the system?” They quickly return to finish working on the vault, caught in disbelief.

 

“ _I may have –_ _**saved your ass**_ _\- intervened._ _”_

 

The console turns green as they unlock the last cache. “You cheeky bastard.”

 

“ _Love you too, Operator.”_

 

Their heart is racing and they can't tell if it's from almost losing the cache or because they adore him. Before they can thank him, they recall the large amounts of security headed their way after the alarms went off. They carefully evacuate the vault room, making use of the vents to escape unseen.

 

“I owe you one, Ordis.” They leap down from the vent, bypassing the guards and drones that are now swarming the room.

 

“ _I can think of a few ways you... can...”_

 

He trails off as he watches them make a sharp turn into a vacant storage room, entering a locker and slamming the door shut.

“ _Operator, what are you-”_

“Don't you dare fucking stop,” they reply breathlessly. They feel relief as they break transference with their Warframe, in their own skin again. It's awkward, cramped and there are guards raising a storm out in the halls – and they couldn't care less. “I can't wait any longer, Ordis.”

 

The situation quickly dawns on him. He can't help but sound coy. “ _What can't you wait for?_ ”

 

“You smug fucking asshole." They zip down part of their suit, elbows bumping against the metal sides of the lockers as they slip a hand through. They slide their legs down to adjust, trying to get more comfortable. “I want you.”

“ _Let's wait until you get back to the ship_." He drips with sarcasm.

 

"For fuck's sake, Ordis - you win the bet. I give up. Just...please keep talking."

" _Tell me what you want, Operator._ "

“Ordis,” the Operator pleads in a whisper.

 

“ _I want you to say it.”_

 

Their head tilts back in frustration, hair messy from being bunched up against the back of the locker. “I want you to talk to me, Ordis. I want you to be dirty. I want you to make me come.”

 

“ _You've been ready this whole time, haven't you?”_ His voice is heavy, salacious.

 

The Operator moans, wrist bending as they glide a hand down and back up. It feels like fire. “Yes,” They answer breathlessly.

 

“ _Ready to touch yourself. Needing it. Ready to beg for it.”_

 

Sweat beads on their forehead, contrasting with the cool metal around them. “Yes,” they repeat, losing themselves as the building heat drives them wild.

 

“ _Work for it, Operator. Beg for more.”_

 

They arch their back, rolling their hips into their touch. “More,” they groan, hazy with pleasure.

 

“ _Say my name.”_

 

“Ordis,” they whisper.

 

“ _Again. Louder.”_

 

They moan, trying to hold back the release they have so desperately waited for. “Ordis,” they repeat.

 

“ _Not enough, Operator. More.”_

 

They gasp as the buildup becomes unbearable, riding close to the egde. “The security-”

 

“ _Fuck the security,”_ he cuts them off. “ _Say it.”_

 

They let go. “Ordis-” They moan his name loud enough to echo through the room. Their hair sticks to their face as they twist in ecstasy, sliding against the locker. They gasp as they ride waves of bliss, body shaking as they finally come. The cramped space strains the muscles in their legs and shoulders, but it feels so incredible that they don't give a damn. Their chest rises and falls as they catch their breath, resting their head on a wall to the side. The metal feels soothing.

 

Their words are choppy, interrupted by moments to catch more air. “Best bet I ever lost, Ordis.”

 

“ _Technically you won, Operator. You finished your mission first.”_ Despite the concession, he sounds absolutely thrilled with the outcome of their game.

 

“It sure as hell doesn't feel like it. I'd be willing to call it a draw.” Still out of breath, they begin to stretch and dress themselves.

 

“ _A draw it is, then,”_ he beams. _“You may want to hurry though, Operator. You have approximately 20 seconds until security arrives at your location.”_

 

“What?” They bump their forehead with a yelp as they partially exit the locker and enter transference again, feeling stiff. “You could have mentioned that sooner.”

 

“ _I was preoccupied,”_ he answers cheekily.

 

“A likely story, Ordis,” they quip back, making their way towards extraction. Back to him. “Draw or not, I'm going to collect my winnings after this.”

 

“ _I'll be waiting, Operator.”_

 

 

 

 


	3. Ghost

The Operator places a small ceramic cup on the table. They reach for a second from the tea set, but their hand hesitates. There's never been an occasion to use more than one. Gently, they pick up another cup and set it down. They adjust it slightly, rotating it so they are symmetrical. A pleasant bitter aroma diffuses through the air as they carefully pour the tea. They take a seat on one side of the table.  
  
  
“Ordis? Are you there?”  
  
  
He chimes in through the receiver. "Yes, Operator. I'm ready for our - **hot date** – meeting."  
  
  
They laugh as they rest their hands on the table. Earlier, they asked him to meet like this - formally. Their eyes glance to the cup across from them, steam rising and fading off. It feels a little silly to leave it there for an empty seat, but they feel it would be rude not to accommodate for him.  
  
  
"What's the special occasion?"  
  
  
"I've been thinking, Ordis. I thought you'd want to know."  
  
  
"Ha ha," he responds dryly.  
  
  
They hold their cup with both hands, enjoying the warmth radiating from it. Their thumb traces up the dark clay and blue glaze, resting up by the rim. Truthfully, they want to celebrate him. He was always so caring, ready to set himself aside at any moment. Maybe that was part of the territory of their relationship, but it felt uneven – they wanted to give back as much as he did. Unfortunately, due to the nature of their situation, it was difficult to think of ways to make that happen.  
  
  
  
“Ordis, you're always thinking of me. I'd like to return the favor this time. How can I do something special for you? Is there anything you'd like to try?”  
  
  
  
The Operator looks into the room as Ordis pauses to consider their words. “Actually, yes. There is something."  
  
  
“Anything, Ordis. What do you want?”  
  
  
“I would...like to switch places with the Operator. I want to know what it feels like.”  
  
  
The Operator raises a curious brow, processing it. “You'd like to roleplay as each other?”  
  
  
“Yes. I don't know how successful it will be, but I'd like to imagine what it's like to have a body again. What it's like for the Operator. I will need assistance, so I would like you to help me as a Cephalon.”  
  
  
They knew who he used to be. He had memories of his old body, but usually he didn't like to talk about it. Did he miss it? It's an exciting suggestion to learn from each other, to see the world from each others' eyes. They turn the idea over in their head, trying to think of how to best approach it.  
  
  
  
“That sounds perfect, Ordis. Let's do it.”  
  
  
  
“Right now?”  
  
  
  
“No time like the present. Let me get ready.”  
  
  
  
He hears them begin to walk through the ship. This is new territory for both of them. The past wasn't a place he liked to linger, but he feels safe with the Operator nearby. He's nervous, unsure of where things will go – but there's a sense of thrill at their answer, anticipating their next move.  
  
  
  
The Operator walks up to the navigation section of the ship. They open a console, bringing up communications to broadcast their voice throughout the Orbiter. He would be able to hear them without it, but they want to make it as accurate as possible. Closing their eyes, they try to imagine it. They think of the weave, as chaotic as it was. They think of the walls of the ship – every door, every light, every function. What it must feel like for him. They open their eyes again, looking out the window at the stars. He swims through them every day. It feels cold and isolated, but then they think of Ordis and they can't help but smile.  
  
  
  
The Operator puts on a subtle Cephalon voice – a dulled and relaxing tone. “Welcome back, Ordis. I am pleased to see you.”  
  
  
  
He can hear double, an echo from the speaker transmitting through the ship. He does something he has never done before – he turns off the receiver he and the Operator use to talk. It feels taboo and part of him is afraid, but he wants to do this right. It's going to be difficult. He remembers his body through memories, but he has never tried to filter those into the present. Ordis tries to separate himself from his ship body. He tries to forget glass and steel, tries to remember the past - flesh, blood and bone.  
  
  
  
The ship begins to slow down. He remembers a heartbeat. As he does, the lights in the ship flicker once and the Operator wonders if they are watching him drift into a dream. They try to carry him there.  
  
  
  
“You must be tired from your previous mission, Ordis. I have prepared your quarters to recuperate. You will find hot tea and incense there. You may use them at your leisure.”  
  
  
  
He listens to their voice, fond of their Cephalon impression. Slightly tinny from the speaker. It is, for lack of a better word, cute. Despite his efforts, he's unsure of how to continue. He remembers these things, these ideas – but he doesn't feel them yet. He answers honestly.  
  
  
  
“I'm a little lost, Operator. How do I get there?”  
  
  
  
The Operator considers how to explain. “You will have to stretch your legs, Ordis.”  
  
  
  
Focusing, he tries to distance himself from the ship. The engines cut out and the Orbiter begins to coast gently through space. He digs through the memories, remembering the feeling of walking on two legs. At the time it would have been a simple mindless act, but now it takes all his concentration to imagine it. He feels a phantom weight, supporting himself and standing upright. He tries to feel the muscle stretch as he takes a step, stiff from a day of mercenary work. Shifting to another foot, he keeps his balance and takes another step forward. With each step, he can feel it more. It slowly gets easier. He can almost hear the footsteps echo in the hallway. Encouraged by the progress, he steps through the door.  
  
  
  
“I'm here, Operator.”  
  
  
  
Floating along in the ship, they listen to him get lost in the scenario. It's fascinating to watch him experience it. They want to help immerse him. “The Operator recommends lighting incense. It is calming to the senses.”  
  
  
  
He remembers his hands as he crosses the room and reaches for a matchbox on the table. He had seen the Operator do this countless times, but he can't remember if he ever did. He feels the almost weightless match between his calloused fingers. He pauses to take the moment in before pressing the wood down to the course surface and striking a flame. There's a flash of light and suddenly, he drowns in memories – the sound of the fire crackling to life, the smell of smoke and burning, the bright heat radiating from it. The fierce and wild potential, the caution and comfort. A balance of survival and death. This felt more than familiar. Lost in the past, he operates on muscle memory. He lowers the flame to the wooden incense, waiting for it to catch. Once it does, he takes a breath to delicately quiet the burn into a slow, rolling ember.  
  
  
  
The Operator feels the air in the ship grow warm as Ordis takes a deep breath, exhaling slowly. He must be adapting to the mindset of his body. It's stunning to see him like this.  
  
  
  
“Excellent, Ordis. The Operator is pleased to see you relax. What would you like to do now?”  
  
  
  
He wants to keep going, but he's not ready yet. He's overwhelmed, clouded from the senses as they flood back to him. Sounds, sights and smells – it's hard to keep track of them all. Too many memories.  
  
  
  
“I'm...it's a lot, Operator. How do you control it?”  
  
  
  
They try to imagine what he's going through, remembering himself through a false body. Sifting memories from reality. Two shells and one consciousness. It sounds strikingly similar to transference. They guide him through it.  
  
  
  
“Start slow, Ordis. Calm. Find yourself.”  
  
  
  
He takes another slow breath, dulling his attention to his surroundings. He listens for his heartbeat again and it gets louder, easier to find. He can practically feel it beating in his chest.  
  
  
  
The Operator feels another light brush of air in the ship, hinting at his success. “Good, Ordis. Now, focus. Feel out your body.”  
  
  
  
He concentrates, trying to remember it all. Walking was easy in comparison. He tries to flex his hand, feeling the blood flow and the tendons pull. He bends his arm and he can remember the strength held there as the muscles contract. He stretches, feeling a ghostly strain in his legs and shoulders as he tests out his limbs. The more he maneuvers, the heavier he feels – more powerful. He loses himself, remembering the motions of old. He used to practice like this. He makes a fist, extending his arm out. It feels natural. Invigorated, he tries it faster this time. He crouches down to leap and is surprised when he can feel the weight of the floor when he lands.  
  
  
  
As Ordis finds his gravity, the ship begins to lose it. The Operator withholds a sound of surprise when they gently start to lift off the ground. Weightless, they are completely captivated. It feels ethereal being like this, between realities.  
  
  
  
He catches his breath, fast from moving around. He sounds excited. “This feels incredible, Operator.”  
  
  
  
They want to give him more. “You look warm, Ordis. Perhaps you'd like to remove your clothing?” The Operator coyly chimes in. He smiles to himself, lifting his shirt by the bottom edge to peel it up over his head.  
  
  
  
“Whatever you say, Operator.” They imagine it together. He throws his shirt to the ground, feeling the light relief of cool air over his chest and neck. He lifts a hand to his brow, wiping at the sweat that gathered there. As his hand drops, he pauses to consider the scars and burns decorating his skin. He lifts his eyes to see his reflection in the window, watching the scars that travel up to his face. He remembers all of them. Before he gets too lost, they interrupt him.  
  
  
  
“The Operator didn't think Ordis could be more attractive.”  
  
  
  
He laughs, hearing his words through the Operator. It's cheesy hearing it from the other side and he loves it. Even though he knows the reality of their situation, he feels oddly exposed to the Operator right now.  
  
  
  
He's not really there. He doesn't have a physical body, but in this moment he can truly feel it. He feels the warm air in the room, smells the aromatic smoke and embers from the incense mixing into the stale recycled air of the ship. His knuckles raw from the latest battle. He feels his blood pulse with the exhilaration of knowing he's not alone. In his memories he was Ordan Karris, the Beast of Bones. While it feels familiar, it's not the same. In this moment, he doesn't question what he is. Right now, he feels new. He is Ordis.  
  
  
  
The Operator notices the lights in the Orbiter dim. They watch him close his eyes, finally drifting off into the dream they are building together. They drift too.  
  
  
  
“You look perfect, Ordis.”  
  
  
  
He lifts his palms, observing them before raising a hand to his lips. He can feel his warm breath hitting his hand as he exhales. Is it a memory? He doesn't care. He wants more. “What happens next, Operator?”  
  
  
  
Their heart beats faster, eager to guide him. “I'd like to help you, Ordis.”  
  
  
  
He can't believe how real everything feels as his mouth runs dry. “What do you have in mind, Operator?”  
  
  
  
“The Operator wants Ordis to feel pleasure,” they purr in response.  
  
  
  
“What would you do if you could, Operator?” His voice is husky. The Operator swears it somehow loses the synthetic filter it usually has, sounding human. They struggle to hide the sound of their own shaky breath in excitement.  
  
  
  
“If I had you all to myself? If I had a body, hands, a mouth...I would explore every inch of you, Ordis.”  
  
  
  
His breath catches as he feels the foreign sensation of arousal sweep over him. In navigation, the Operator feels themselves beginning to sweat. They wipe their forehead with the back of their arm and brush the hair out of their face. It's getting warmer in the ship as Ordis loses control of himself, and they are only encouraged the further he goes.  
  
  
  
“I would straddle you, running my hands through your hair. You would feel my hot breath by your ear. Kissing your neck. My tongue tracing down along your scars.”  
  
  
  
He groans, running a hand over himself. He remembers this. Hard. Dizzy, like he's drunk. His palm traces down his length before grasping it. He didn't care to question how good it felt.  
  
  
  
“Keep going, Operator.”  
  
  
  
“I would kiss my way down your stomach. You would see me look up and smile as I remove your belt, sliding you out before taking you whole in my mouth.”  
  
  
  
Ordis slides his hand up and down, reeling from sensations he thought were long forgotten. Everything feels so damn hot. His mind becomes foggy as he relives the feeling.  
  
  
  
The Operator listens to him moan in response. It's the hottest fucking thing they've ever heard. They can't tell if he's imagining it happening or if he's listening in the dream. It doesn't matter. Wherever he is, they don't want him to stop.  
  
  
  
“I would trace my tongue along you, sucking you in over and over again. All the way. You would watch my head move up and down, feel how hot and wet it is inside my mouth. I would run my hands along your chest, hungry to get more of you.”  
  
  
  
“Operator,” He pleads. He knows they are still talking, but the words get lost as he loses focus.  
  
  
  
He's completely gone, consumed by what he would describe as ecstasy if he could form a single thought right now. He's not sure how much time has gone by. Reality goes fuzzy as his hand pumps faster. He can't tell if he's lost in his imagination or a memory, but hearing the Operator's voice sends him over the edge.  
  
  
  
Ordis supports himself with his other arm against the wall as he loses balance, the release making him stumble as his legs grow weak. His head tilts back in euphoria as the lines between his bodies are blurred and he rides a wave of something that feels incredible. He loses track of where he is, can't concentrate on anything except how good it feels. He gasps as the sensations flood through him. It's wild, electric and reaches across every fiber of him.  
  
  
  
The Operator cries out in surprise, catches themselves with their hands from falling as the ship lurches forward suddenly and gravity returns. The power cuts out for a few heavy moments before slowly coming back to life, the lights flickering a few times. A rush of cool air flows past them and the ship seems to return to normal. Before he says anything, they can tell he's back to himself. They shiver from the cold air and swear he does too.  
  
  
  
“Are you alright, Ordis?” They whisper, as if gently waking him. They right themselves, standing once again.  
  
  
  
It's suspiciously silent. They give him a moment before asking once more. “Ordis? You there?”  
  
  
When he finally speaks, it's raspy and wearier than they are used to. He drawls, “I'm here, Operator.”  
  
  
The Operator laughs, running a hand along the surface of the console table. “Rest, Ordis.”  
  
  
He makes a content hum, the lights dimming slightly. "Thank you, Operator. For everything."  
  
  
They return to their quarters to clean up. The tea, gone cold by now,  has spilled across the floor with a cup laying on its side - a side effect of the temporary gravity loss. When they pick it up, they observe a new crack spreading across it. They trace the fracture with their index finger, feeling the texture of it. Their heart flutters at the thought that there's physical evidence he was here. They look up at the room, wondering what it was like for him.

 

Groggily, he chimes in. "Sorry about the mess, Operator. I suppose I was...haste-tea."

 

Normally they loathe his puns, making a point _not_ to laugh at them. This time, they can't conceal it - they laugh openly as they return the cup to the table.

 

He's always been here. 

 

 


End file.
